


Oh, Maybe It's Love?

by theweakestthing



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Epiphanies, First Kiss, Fluff, Introspection, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Episode: s12e12 Stuck In The Middle (With You), Vague References to Richard Siken, home is where the heart is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-27 22:35:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30129915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theweakestthing/pseuds/theweakestthing
Summary: So, you're in a car with a beautiful man, and his brother, and he won't tell you that he loves you but he might, you're not sure because you don't know what love is despite having your brain crammed with the entirety of known popular culture, and you might be in love with him too, if only you knew what that meant.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 6
Kudos: 76





	Oh, Maybe It's Love?

Dampness clung to the tarmac and left the passing fields in a state of drab freshness. The rain had stopped, but Castiel could still taste it in the air that came in through the rolled down window. Familiar music blared from the car speakers, Sam and Dean were arguing about the appropriate level of volume, this was an argument that Castiel had witnessed many times before.

He made the mistake of meeting Dean’s eyes in the rear view mirror, and the man asked for his opinion.

“There _is_ a quality to this music that is best played loud,” Castiel began, he remembered seeing that phrase on a cassette case, that and the sheer amount of times Dean had mentioned the supposed ‘fact’ to him had to at least count for something.

“See Sammy,” Dean said smugly, smirking that sharp smile that crinkled his eyes at Sam.

“However, prolonged listening at this volume can cause damage to your hearing, which would greatly affect your ability to hunt,” Castiel continued, ignoring the interruption, and he stated the facts as plainly as always.

“See Dean,” Sam returned derisively and turned the volume down, apparently having won the argument.

“Hey, you’re supposed to be on my side,” Dean said, eyeing Castiel again through the rear view mirror, those green eyes were playfully accusing.

“Why am I expected to arbitrarily take your side in all arguments?” Castiel asked. He tilted his head slightly as he stared at the side of Dean’s face.

“’Cause I’m your favourite,” Dean said, he looked over his shoulder for a moment to flick a smile at Castiel, Sam snorted from the passenger seat.

“My favourite? You’re my favourite what?” Castiel asked, brows pinched, though he could have hazarded a guess. Many an angel and a few demons had accused him of favouring humanity and the Winchesters especially. Castiel liked to believe that he’d only been doing what he thought was right, though that frequently meant siding with the Winchesters, but that wasn’t his fault.

“Your favourite human, hunter, Winchester brother, take your pick,” Dean reeled off, that smug smile had returned to his face.

“You do share ‘something of a special bond’,” Sam teased, misquoting Castiel back at him.

Clearly it was all in jest, Castiel had learned that much, but there was something squirming beneath it all that he couldn’t quite pin down.

“I do not have favourites,” Castiel muttered, it was an obvious lie, but something about the conversation was beginning to make him uncomfortable.

“Not to be mean or anything Cas, but you do definitely have favourites, and I’ve made my peace with the fact that my brother, who didn’t believe in God, let alone angels, is your favourite,” Sam said, turned around in his seat to talk directly to Castiel. His smile was soft and Castiel supposed it was meant to be reassuring.

Castiel didn’t want to repeat himself, especially since they all knew he was lying, but angels weren’t supposed to have favourites. Then again, Castiel had done a whole lot of things that angels supposedly weren’t supposed to do.

“Hey, don’t be ashamed of it,” Dean said, digging into the growing silence, his eyes slid over to Sam, “at least we know you’ve got good taste.”

With his jaw set, Castiel stared out the window at the sodden scenery, and wondered why what was apparently meant to be nothing more than some light barbing, as was usual with the Winchesters, instead felt like barbed wire sticking into his skin.

Sam cleared his throat and started talking about the case they were headed toward.

* * *

The stench of mildew and decay filled the air as Sam flipped the pages of the dusty tome on the table before him. It appeared to be some kind of census. Castiel watched the dust motes dance in the soft afternoon light. Dean was across the room, fiddling with the microfiche machine, looking through the local newspapers.

Castiel could have been doing something, probably should have been doing something, but he was having an incredibly difficult time focusing. The discussion from the car, hours previously, was still bothering him. Why? Well figuring that out wasn’t entirely beyond him. Castiel had learnt a lot of things in his long existence, but he had only been learning about his own emotions and feelings since he’d met Sam and Dean.

He looked around the library, hoping to suddenly find some way to be useful.

His eyes fell on a boy skittishly glancing around, he was leaned heavily over the table, and he looked embarrassed and perhaps a little terrified. Castiel watched as the boy scratched a few words in a notebook apparently copied from the open book besides him before nervously looking around the library again. That cycle repeated for a while, the behaviour intrigued and confused Castiel. Eventually the boy hastily gathered his things and bolted from the building. He had left the book on the table.

In several long determined strides, Castiel approached the table and grabbed the book. He held it up and examined the cover. It was almost instantly apparent why the boy had been so embarrassed, it was quite explicit without actually being explicit. The cover was a simple black and white picture depicting a young man wiping his mouth with a bloody hand. There was something erotic about it, at least the way he understood it from the contents of John Berger’s _Ways of Seeing_ , he hoped he was putting Metatron’s little ‘gift’ to proper use.

He flicked through the pages of the slim book, though he already knew it from cover to cover, thanks to the aforementioned pop culture knowledge. His eyes landed on a thick paragraph that stood out from the rest of the page. It mentioned something about being in a car, repressed feelings and a love that felt like a crime.

Though he wasn’t entirely sure why, Castiel felt singed by the book and dropped it back down onto the table, he supposed that the boy must have felt something similar. Almost everything Castiel had ever felt or done on his own felt like a crime.

“Hey buddy, when you’re up in the clouds it’s usually literally,” Dean said, hand curled around Castiel’s shoulder.

“I haven’t been to heaven for some time,” Castiel replied, though he understood what Dean meant, he didn’t want to explain what had him so distracted.

“Look, if you’re worried about what’s going on back home and you wanna call in or something, then we can handle this,” Dean said, hunched over a little as he stared hard into Castiel’s eyes, in an obvious effort at reassurance and comfort.

“No, I’m sure they’re doing fine without me,” Castiel muttered, smothering the conflicting urges to both move out from under Dean’s hold or step forward into the embrace. It was another lie. He doubted he was welcome in heaven, considering everything that had happened, and though he was concerned, he knew they could handle things without him. “I’ll stay,” he added, smiling softly back at Dean.

Dean nodded and patted Castiel’s shoulder before moving forward, Castiel missed the contact instantly. He followed Dean back toward Sam.

* * *

Sat in the cab of the flatbed, the hood glistened brown and gold in the dazzling sunlight, Castiel watched a crow pick at undefined road kill though he wasn’t really seeing the cycle of life before him. His mind was on that snippet of a poem. The case was over and the Winchesters had only suffered minor injuries, which was apparently an achievement and a major success. And so, Castiel had nothing to occupy himself with.

Being an angel, Castiel’s experience of love was exceedingly limited. He had loved his father, God, but that feeling seemed to be a given. It was something unquestionable or at least it had been. He loved his brothers and sisters, he was certain of that, and had done so much to try to make things right but it only seemed to make things worse. Romantic love was something he had no experience or understanding of.

Even with the knowledge of every word ever written, every song ever sung, every piece of art ever made by humanity about love, Castiel did not feel able to determine whether what he himself was feeling was love. He hadn’t met many humans who were in love or had been very successful at it.

When he wanted to understand something about people, Castiel usually observed them, and he was certain that he had observed love but he didn’t feel as though he understood it any better than before. He supposed that it was time to ask someone who had actually been in love for some advice.

* * *

“Sam,” Castiel said, announcing his arrival as he slid into the booth seat.

Sam dropped his phone and jumped back against his seat. Since he no longer had the ability to ‘fly’, Sam and Dean had stopped complaining about his sudden appearance and disappearance, and instead had begun to complain that he crept around like a serial killer. Though, Dean seemed more used to his supposedly sudden appearances than his brother.

“Don’t you usually do this to my brother?” Sam asked, hand held against his chest, his eyes darted around the diner.

“We made an appointment, I assumed you would be expecting me,” Castiel said, brows furrowed as he stared at Sam.

“Yeah, well,” Sam muttered, shrugging something noncommittal. “What did you wanna talk about anyway, and why couldn’t we do it at the bunker?”

“I require your help with something, and I don’t think Dean would be of much assistance in this area,” Castiel explained, watching as Sam picked his phone out of his salad.

“Oh, okay,” Sam said, straightening up a little. Castiel didn’t miss the slight smugness of being chosen over his brother, and though it made Castiel bristle a little, he wouldn’t mention it.

“Even after Metatron endowed me with the knowledge of your popular culture, there are still gaps in my understanding,” Castiel said, diving right in, being direct was just the way he was now.

“Yeah, books and movies aren’t exactly a one to one for the lived human experience,” Sam said, and started in on his salad again.

“Yes, this is the issue I’ve come up against in my own research,” Castiel returned, he frowned, brows brought together in frustration.

“So, what is it that you’re researching?” Sam asked, head tilted slightly toward Castiel, and took a sip of his coffee.

“Love.”

“Love?” Sam repeated, wide eyed and brows raised.

“Yes,” Castiel nodded, unsure as to why the clarification was needed, “how does someone know whether they’re in love or not?”

Sam stared at him, unmoving besides the rapid blinking of his eyes.

“I understand that it is a feeling difficult to translate into words,” Castiel said, in his research he’d come across vague illusions to metaphors and universal experiences that surely weren’t universal, and he had found most of them incomprehensible.

Sam seemed to take some time to think, considering what to say, Castiel was heartened that Sam was taking his enquiry seriously. He scanned the diner and observed its patrons and workers. Castiel had always been fascinated by the way people went about their days, interacted with each other, and conducted their lives. In such a short time, relatively, Castiel had learnt so much about humans but knew that he still had so much more to learn.

“Okay, I think I’ve got a way to describe it,” Sam said, uncertain, and cleared his throat. Castiel turned his attention back to Sam. “Do you understand what it means when someone says that something feels like home?” He asked, elbows on the table as he leaned forward slightly.

“I believe I do, yes,” Castiel nodded, that was a sentiment easily understood, or at least more so than love. In a sense Castiel had a home, though not in the way humans did. For humans the home was a symbol. Home was somewhere where you felt safe, where the people you cared about were, where you wanted to be and a place that you missed when you weren’t there.

“Love is when someone feels like home.”

“Hmm,” Castiel considered the statement, though he would have to think on it longer and likely in solitude.

“Cas, do you think you might be in love?” Sam asked, his voice was soft and his tone delicate, as though he were worried that he might hurt Castiel’s feelings.

“That is what I am trying to find out,” Castiel replied. There was something that kept him from outright saying that he believed he might be in love with Sam’s older brother. Castiel suspected that Sam already knew, or at least had some sort of inkling, but the words stayed in his mouth.

Sam nodded, ran a hand through his hair, and looked out the window.

“I’m not going to tell you whether you’re in love or not. No one can do that, it’s one of those things that you have to figure out for yourself, that’s part of why it’s so hard to explain. But Cas, some people, well no one falls in love the same way and some people don’t fall in love at all or at least not romantically,” he rambled, scratching at his jaw, twitchy and uncomfortable.

“I am aware that the human experience is vast and varied,” Castiel said, hoping to reassure Sam, though he didn’t quite understand the man’s worries.

“Well, maybe that’s true of angels too,” Sam said, hopefully.

“Perhaps,” Castiel replied at length, “we are certainly far more varied than some would like to believe,” he continued, thinking of his brothers and sisters and their differing personalities.

“Yeah, well, I’ve met my fair share of angels and they were about as different from each other as any family are,” Sam said, likely thinking of Gabriel. “What I’m saying is, don’t expect the answers you get to come easy or to be all that satisfying.”

Castiel nodded, it was a comfort to know that Sam was concerned for his feelings. It would be untrue to say that Castiel had not felt emotions before he had ventured into hell to pull Dean out, but his emotions had been clear cut and easily understood, back then everything had seemed so easy and it still staggered him how much of it had been a lie.

“Wait?” Sam said, brows furrowed and the wrinkle in his forehead became quite pronounced. “Wouldn’t being in love cause you to fall?”

“I believe that it might have, several years ago, but now, it seems that the rules have been irrevocably broken,” Castiel said. When he had fallen it was because he was losing his faith in his father or at the very least questioning it. Given the circumstances, Castiel still felt that it was only natural to question his faith in that moment, but he still looked back in shame that he had wavered, even given what he knew now. There were other angels who had done far worse and had kept their grace and hadn’t fallen. Even when Castiel had turned his back on his friends and played at being God, a blasphemy that he still cringed at the thought of, an act he was still working to redeem himself from, he did not lose his grace or so much as stumble.

“Huh,” Sam breathed and looked back out the window contemplatively. “Well, I don’t know how much help I’ve been, but I hope you figure it out,” he added, his eyes returned to Castiel, his smile was small but genuine.

“You’ve been a great help Sam,” Castiel replied. The earnest eagerness to help others and accommodate their needs was always a welcome sight, and somewhere along the way, Sam had learnt to be more wary of that behaviour but he’d still go out of his way for those he cared for. It was heartening to know that Castiel was counted among them. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Sam said, smiling a little wider, “and you can talk to me anytime, you know that right? We still owe you for, well, everything,” he went on, fiddling with his fork as his eyes cut down toward the half eaten salad.

“You and your brother owe me nothing, but your help is greatly appreciated,” Castiel said, returning Sam’s smile, and left.

* * *

He watched the headlights of a car pass over the ceiling of the cab of the flatbed he was lying in. Spread out across the bench seat. Before they averted the apocalypse, Castiel had never truly had to think for himself, he did, but it was something that he kept to himself. Since then, he’d had a lot of think about. Mostly, he had thought about Dean Winchester.

It never seemed to be long before Dean and his brother were in some sort of cataclysmic trouble, sat at the centre of a hurricane tearing at the universe, and Castiel would lend his aid in any way that he could. Though, at one point he had been the thing happening to them. Castiel swallowed the shame down, he was making his atonements and he wasn’t one for self pity.

Previously, he never would have thought that thinking could be so tumultuous, and it was no wonder Dean had often looked pained by his thoughts. Castiel had learnt to deal with the frustration of looking inward to find not just unsatisfactory answers but no answers but it was still a difficult task.

Castiel closed his eyes and tried to imagine the sensation of home.

He had little reason to feel safe around Dean, but he did. Whenever he needed help, his first thought was of Dean. And when he realised that, he tried to stop and sought the answers on his own, it wouldn’t do to be so reliant on others, and the Winchesters had done so much for him already. But when every source available to him proved unhelpful, that was when he turned to Dean. Not that he didn’t appreciate or want Sam’s help too. It was true, there was a bond between him and Dean, and it was profound and confusing. If Dean didn’t have answers, then he’d have comfort and the assurance that they would do their best to help him in any way they could, and it was that specifically that made Castiel feel safe.

Where Castiel wanted to be was wherever Dean was. In his moments of idle thought, he found himself wondering where Dean was and what he was doing, and yearned to be there too.

When he wasn’t with Dean, he wanted to be, and Castiel supposed that was a loose way to describe what it meant to miss someone. Castiel knew what missing something was. He missed heaven. Though heaven had changed so much and he no longer recognised his original home, it was where he came from and it still meant something to him, and he often felt an ache to return when he wasn’t there. That ache was nothing compared to what he felt for Dean.

He missed Dean. He missed Dean as humanity would miss the moon if it were to suddenly disappear. Castiel’s ache unmoored him, caused the host of heaven to question him, it had caused them to turn their backs on him, and he still couldn’t and wouldn’t turn his back on Dean, and he ached. He ached even when Dean was there.

To Castiel, home felt like flannel shirts and denim jeans. Home felt like the backseat of the Impala and green eyes in the rear view mirror. Home felt like a hand on his shoulder and a promise or a plea to make things right again. Home smelt like gun smoke, mud, stale bed sheets, motor oil, the sharp tang of blood and sweat, beer, sweet cherry pie and greasy hamburgers. Home smelt like Dean.

Home was Dean Winchester.

Castiel wasn’t sure when it had happened, when he had turned away from heaven and looked to Dean instead. But it had happened all the same. He wondered if his siblings had been right, that he had been ‘corrupted’ from the very first touch, and had been falling ever since (both metaphorically and biblically).

The sun was beginning to peak over the horizon and the cars were long gone.

Castiel had come to an understanding within himself. If he had realised this sensation, or more accurately acknowledged it, any time earlier he might have folded that feeling up inside himself and ignored it for the rest of his existence. But a whole lot had changed in a very short time, as was usual for the Winchesters.

At that time, all Dean had was Sam and Castiel to aid and support him through whatever calamity may arise, their mother’s presence was fickle and tended to cause more strain than comfort. It wasn’t enough. Castiel himself had disappeared, willingly or otherwise, from Dean’s life several times. By now Castiel had been on the receiving end of Dean’s sudden disappearance too. And there had been something strange and painful in Dean’s absence and Castiel’s inability to locate him, and it had felt as though he were missing a limb, he’d missed Dean like he had missed his grace, lost somewhere not too distant but completely out of reach.

He knew where Dean was now.

* * *

“Can we talk?” Castiel asked, stood in the doorway of the kitchen. Sam had been on his way to bed when Castiel arrived and told him where he could find his brother.

“What’s up Cas?” Dean said. There was a slice of apple pie and a bottle of beer set out on the table before him. He watched Castiel and took a sip of his beer.

“I have something I wanted to ask you,” Castiel said. He made his way into the room and sat opposite Dean at the table.

“Shoot,” Dean said around a mouthful of pie, Castiel furrowed his brow and tilted his head slightly. “Ask your question Cas,” Dean added with a good natured sigh, he shook his head lightly and smiled.

Castiel remembered Dean wearing a similar expression when he had asked him not to change and a sensation of warmth grew inside him at the memory.

He knew he couldn’t simply come out with a declaration of his newly defined feelings for Dean, the man would balk and retreat into himself, and Castiel knew well enough by now to work up to the bigger issues. Though he still expected Dean to retreat inside himself and deny that he deserved any such thing. Castiel bit the inside of his cheek, another habit he had picked up from his time as a mortal and the frustration of being around Dean.

“Have you ever been in love Dean?” He asked, hands clasped in his lap, he watched Dean go still for a moment before he replied.

“I thought Sammy helped you out on your rom-com quest,” Dean said, brows raised and a fork full of apple pie held close to his mouth.

“Is it not better to get a variety of perspectives?” Castiel returned, frowning again. Dean and Sam consulted as many sources as they could when on a hunt. It wasn’t unusual, even if it was kind of a lie.

“I dunno, maybe, but you’re barking up the wrong tree with me, I’m no good at all that romantic crap,” Dean said fork settled back down on the plate, he sat back in his chair.

“Sam has had a similar amount of luck in this area as you have,” Castiel pointed out, though Sam had nowhere near the amount of casual sex that Dean had, but Castiel didn’t believe that it was relevant to his own endeavours.

“No, it’s not the same,” Dean said, shaking his head, he set his elbows on the table. “Sammy’s misfortunes with love, besides that one demon, they’re mostly not his fault,” he went on, head tilted forward and his hands open slightly, as though it should be obvious.

“But yours are?” Castiel asked, his frown deepening. He wondered when the last time Dean had even so much as tried to be romantically involved with someone. As far as Castiel was aware, Lisa had been the last. That was more than five years ago, Castiel’s jaw tightened, he stared at the peeling finish of the table top.

“Yep,” Dean replied, and took a swig of his beer.

“I believe, with Lisa, that was my fault,” Castiel said, eyes back on Dean, remembering what Dean had him do in that hospital years ago.

“You might have played a part, but that was going to fall apart eventually,” Dean returned with easy assurance. Castiel had long since learnt that Dean Winchester would never allow the blame to be fully taken from him, and he wondered if Dean felt that he played a part in Castiel’s failings too.

“You never answered my question,” Castiel shot back, watching as Dean chewed on the apple pie. He felt bad about souring what was one of Dean’s most favourite things. Apple pie and a beer alone in what was now his home, Castiel would have rather been listening to jokes he barely understood, but if they didn’t discuss this now he wasn’t sure when his next opportunity would come.

“You’re really set on this aren’t ya?” Dean said, brows twitching as he started up at Castiel, and sipped at his drink again.

“You’re my friend Dean. If I can’t ask you then who else can I ask?” Castiel replied. Those green eyes, like glass, like grass, skittered over his face. This was comfortingly familiar. The staring, long and quiet, as though they were both waiting for something to happen without knowing what it was. When Dean sighed, Castiel couldn’t help but smile softly.

“I don’t think so Cas,” Dean said after a moment, and Castiel tilted his head, he didn’t want to presume. “I don’t think I’ve ever been in love,” he clarified. Dean was very still as he continued to stare back at Castiel.

“Ever?” Castiel asked, eyes scrutinising Dean, his brows came back together.

“The only things I love are,” Dean began, holding his hand up to curl his fingers as he counted them off, “classic rock, pie, my baby, and my family, mom, Sammy and you.”

Something about being included in that list, though he already knew that Dean counted him among his family and friends, made a gooey kind of warm sensation spread out inside him. He wanted to hold onto it.

“But that isn’t the same kind of love, is it?” Castiel asked, watching Dean carefully.

“No, it’s not,” Dean said, watching him right back.

Castiel knew, because he had been down this road so many times before, that this wasn’t going anywhere. He was beginning to wonder what he had wanted from this. Maybe he wasn’t really thinking. What was he hoping to get out of making Dean uncomfortable, which he knew Dean was, anyway? It wouldn’t do to push him into a corner, it would only make him lash out.

“What’s all this about anyway?” Dean asked, still needling Castiel with those dark eyes.

This wasn’t the time to do this. There was probably a better time to do this. Though, maybe never was a good time too. Castiel was losing his nerve and fast, he sighed and slumped a little in his chair.

“Love appears to be an integral part of humanity,” Castiel explained lamely, “I simply want to understand.”

“Sammy seems to think that you’ve gone and got all twitterpatted over someone,” Dean said, smirking, and sipped at his beer.

“Are you referring to the Disney movie _Bambi_ , with the woodland creatures?” Castiel asked, brows furrowed as he stared down at the wreckage of Dean’s pie.

“Didn’t understand that part did ya?” Dean said, still smiling at him.

“That’s love?” Castiel couldn’t have been more confused.

“It’s what love does to some people,” Dean explained, shovelling more pie into his mouth.

“It makes people temporarily insane?” Castiel supposed that it made some semblance of sense, the notion that love blinded people and caused them to do things they would not have otherwise done appeared in a fair amount of popular culture.

“It can seem that way, yeah,” Dean returned, speaking around the pie, voice on the cusp of laughing.

Dean really had a knack for derailing conversations. At this point Castiel couldn’t remember what he had meant to say, and his confidence was all but completely depleted, there was no way he could steer the conversation back to Dean’s personal experiences. It was always a near painful endeavour to get Dean to talk about his feelings. This might as well have been a lost cause before it had even begun.

“You’ve given me much to consider,” Castiel said, it wasn’t so much a lie as it was an easy way to end the conversation.

“I bet I have,” Dean returned with a tilt of his head, fork still caught in his fingers.

Dean watched him, eyes daring, and it was apparent that Dean knew Castiel hadn’t said all he’d meant to say. Obviously, he wasn’t going to mention it. Castiel knew that Dean preferred to let things lie.

“Thank you Dean,” Castiel muttered, Dean nodded and Castiel left the room.

That, well it couldn’t be a failure if Castiel hadn’t entered the room with a true purpose, but it certainly wasn’t a success.

* * *

Wrecked and bloody, skin torn to show bone beneath muscle, Dean was on his knees at Castiel’s feet. The battle was over, but only just. Their laboured breaths filled the room. Chests rose and fell, adrenaline dying in at least Dean’s veins, Castiel could hear his heart stuttering. The scent of sulphur and the coppery tang of blood hung in the air.

“You don’t need to throw yourself blindly into every fight,” Castiel bit out, trying not to sneer as looked down at Dean.

“Well, I guess I’m lucky that I’ve got my own personal doctor angel to help patch me up,” Dean said, wincing as he smiled up at Castiel, white teeth shining beneath the blood and grime.

“I’m not as strong as I used to be Dean, and there are things that I cannot heal,” Castiel said, wearily. He was stalling, gathering his strength so he could heal Dean properly.

“You calling me a lost cause?” Dean asked, breathing still shallow and harsh, and arched a single brow.

“I’m asking you to be a little more careful,” Castiel returned.

“I don’t know if you remember but a few weeks ago you were spilling your guts on some disgusting couch groaning and whining like you were Tim fucking Roth,” Dean shot back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, blood shining in his hair. “You’re not indestructible either.”

Castiel knew that he wasn’t indestructible, the evidence of that fact was indisputable, and he didn’t need reminding. He had been through so many trials and so much torment in the comparatively short time he’d spent with Dean. It was enough for at least most of his lifetime. And he was well aware of his shortcomings and mistakes, and they haunted his every movement and decision.

“I know you love me,” Castiel said, lips pulled back in a sneer, this wasn’t how this was supposed to go. Of course he knew. All the things they’d done for each other, they were things they’d never do for anyone else. And all the moments they’d shared, they were moments that they’d have never shared with anyone else. It was impossible to ignore all the ways in which Dean had fought for him. And it wasn’t lost on Castiel how similar this moment was to another time they had come close to confessions, only this time he wasn’t the reason for Dean’s injuries, and this time he could get the words out.

He wanted to fix everything. Every single misstep and mistake he’d made, all the people he’d betrayed and done wrong by, Castiel wanted to make everything right again. But things hadn’t really been right in the first place and he didn’t know where to start.

The best he could do was clear Dean’s body of the horrors that had been recently wrought upon it. Castiel reached down, curled his hand around the side of Dean’s face, and healed him. He even cleared the blood from his body. Dean’s expression darkened as he rose from the floor.

“So what if I love you, it’s not like you’re gonna stick around,” he said, hands curled into fists, he turned away from Castiel.

“I haven’t been anywhere else,” Castiel said, brows furrowed, it had been some time since he’d had reason to be anywhere else. And he certainly didn’t have anywhere else to be right now. He didn’t want to be anywhere else.

“Cas, you run off to do stupid shit all the time,” Dean said with a sigh, shoulders shagging as he turned back to Castiel.

“I’m trying to protect you, and everyone else,” Castiel said, his patience was wearing thin and it had the quality of a paper bag, and he wouldn’t take this kind of hypocrisy.

“Oh and look at all the good that’s done,” Dean ground out, and Castiel wondered if they were still only talking about him.

“You’re still alive aren’t you?” Castiel shot back, head tilted, and arched a brow at Dean. “You’re alive and I love you.”

Dean froze. Castiel wondered how the statement could possibly shock Dean. He could have hit him, and he didn’t need to be brainwashed for it this time. This really was not how he’d wanted this to go. He hadn’t pictured saying those words in a dilapidated clapboard house, covered in viscera, stinking of the insides of what had formerly been a person and the telltale scent of sulphur of a demon, accusing each other of being reckless. Though, given their track record, Castiel probably should have known better.

“You love me?” Dean said, the words punched out of him, brows riding high as he stared at Castiel unblinking.

“I thought that was obvious,” Castiel returned, he dropped his arms down against his body, his coat flapped noisily, and he was sure he had picked up the urge to put his hands in his pockets from Dean’s avoidant tendencies.

“It wasn’t obvious to you last month,” Dean said.

“At the time I was not equipped with the necessary knowledge to name it, but I know it’s what I have always felt for you,” Castiel explained. He may not have known what it was exactly, but he had been feeling it for years now, and he was certain of it.

If he had been human, Castiel would have missed the blush that crawled outward from the bridge of Dean’s nose and coloured his cheeks, and tinged the tips of his ears in the low light. He watched as Dean shifted. His eyes flitted all over the sparse room, everywhere but Castiel.

“I’m no good Cas, you know that,” Dean murmured. His body was slowly curling inward, as though he were trying to escape what had already been said.

“I’m not going to repeat myself, but I will say, if you’re no good then I’m not either,” Castiel replied. They’d had this same conversation so many times before, they’d had so many of the same conversations over and over again, and Castiel was tired of it. He wanted to move on.

“Cas,” Dean breathed. It sounded like a warning, a plea, and a prayer. His eyes were shining in that way that reminded Castiel of tall grass after rainfall.

Castiel approached Dean then. The floorboards groaned beneath him, Dean stayed stuck to the spot with his head still ducked, and he didn’t even look up at Castiel when he stopped with less than a foot between them. Some time, many years ago, Dean would have griped about personal space.

“You’re not going to change my mind,” Castiel said, with the same stubbornness that Dean often cursed, he’d come so far and there was no point in backing down now.

“No, I’m not am I?” Dean said with a sigh, but Castiel could see the corner of his mouth twitching upward.

In a matter of moments, two hands were fisted in the front of his trench coat, and Castiel was pulled into a crushing kiss. He supposed it might have hurt had he not been an angel. Dean was warm and alive against him, the animalistic smell of sweat, blood and something that Castiel could only describe as ‘ _Dean_ ’ curled up his nose. Castiel had been kissed before but comparatively Dean was a master at the art. And he allowed himself to be led.

Dean pushed him backward until he was crumpled against the window frame. Hand cupped around his neck, Dean loomed over Castiel, and pressed his palm against the angel’s stubble. Slowly, Castiel reached out for Dean. He had touched the man in so many ways in the years they’d known each other, but none of those times had ever felt like this, they had never meant this much. His fingers twitched as they gripped the collar of Dean’s flannel shirt.

“Guys?” Sam called, his lumbering steps made the floorboards creak, the sound died in the doorway. “Ew, seriously?” he asked, looking between them as they reluctantly pulled apart.

“What?” Dean yelled, head swivelling toward his brother.

“You’re like completely covered in guts, and I think there’s a piece of jaw bone stuck to Cas’ coat,” Sam explained, pointing between them with a disgusted sneer. “Anyway, real glad you finally pulled your head out of your ass, congrats,” he added, smiling wide and goofy.

“Sammy,” Dean gritted out, voice low and dangerous, as though the word alone was threat enough. Castiel doubted that there was any real heat behind it.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re going to eviscerate me,” Sam muttered, waving Dean off, he was soon wincing, he rubbed at his likely bruised ribs, and leaned against the doorframe.

“Thank you Sam,” Castiel said. He approached the younger Winchester, touched his forehead, and healed his wounds.

“No, thank _you_ Cas,” Sam said, smiling again. “And hey Cas, you’re already family, and you can heal me, which is a great plus,” he added, hand curled around Castiel’s shoulder, “but if you hurt my brother, you know I know how to kill an angel right?” Sam was still smiling, and Castiel was proud of himself for realising that Sam was joking.

“I’m well aware of that Sam,” Castiel replied, “though I could easily smite you.”

“Sure you can reach my forehead with your useless wings?” Sam returned.

“Seriously?” Dean grouched, brows raised as he stared between them, hands open.

“Not that I’m excited to sit in a car with the two of you smitten kittens, who also happen to smell like crispy fried person for the next couple of hours, but I’d love to sleep in my own bed tonight,” Sam said and left the room, kicking up dust as he went, it lent him an unwarranted air of dramatics.

“Smitten kittens?” Castiel asked, eyes squinted as he stared back at Dean.

Dean shook his head and herded him out of the dilapidated house.

* * *

The drive back to the bunker was hot and dry. Castiel liked the sound of the asphalt flying under the wheels of the Impala, and it was loud and wild, with a hint of danger. It reminded Castiel of Dean.

Sam had offered to sit in the back, but Castiel had declined, considering their height differences and their differing needs for comfort. In a way, he preferred the backseat anyways. There was something thrilling about occasionally catching Dean’s eyes in the rear view mirror.

This was only the start of things and Castiel knew that there was more to come. Very early on in their relationship, Castiel had come to know that Dean rarely if ever found himself worthy or deserving, and Castiel felt that he had a lifetime (at least Dean’s lifetime) ahead of him of proving Dean wrong. He felt more than up to the challenge.

“What’s mom gonna say?” Dean suddenly exclaimed, eyes blown wide, his grip on the wheel tightened.

“She’ll be happy for you,” Sam assured easily, chucking at his brother.

“Dude, when she died, Reagan was president,” Dean returned, voice flat and serious as he stared hard out the windshield. Castiel didn’t understand why it mattered who had been president when Mary had died.

“Dean,” Sam said. His voice was softer now. And though he was still smiling, it was a different kind of smile, something warm and almost sad.

“What?” Dean shot back and Sam sighed. The smile fell from Sam’s face, and Castiel watched as Sam dragged his hand down his face. He seemed to take his time considering his words before he spoke again.

“She knows anyway, everyone knows, okay?” Sam said, finally, a little exasperated. He dropped his hands into his lap.

“Everyone?” Dean yelled, snapping his head toward Sam, brows half a mile up his forehead as the colour drained from his face.

“The road,” Cas murmured urgently, and reached his hand out to tap Dean on the shoulder, they were drawing dangerously close toward the road markings.

“Huh? Oh right,” Dean muttered, coming back to himself, and returned his attention to the road again.

“Dean, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but every time we meet an angel they always whine about how Cas chose you over heaven and how ‘the very touch of you corrupts’, and demons are always jabbing at the both of you about it, like constantly,” Sam explained, there was humour in his voice, and he was smiling as he spoke. “Everyone knows.”

“Fuck,” Dean muttered, he bit his lip and watched the road ahead.

“I told you it was obvious,” Castiel chimed in.

“Alright,” Dean bit out, but there was no anger behind it, and when their eyes met again he was smiling. “So, I guess you do have a favourite after all, eh Cas?”

“I suppose I do, yes,” Castiel said and returned the smile. He was home.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos would be much appreciated.  
> You can catch me on tumblr @ theweakestthing and twitter @ th_weakestthing  
> xx


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